


Castaway

by sicktodeathoflogic



Category: My Engineer (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Shipwrecked, Angst, Developing Friendships, Fluff and Angst, I'm Bad At Tagging, Idiots in Love, M/M, Minor Injuries, Not Beta Read, POV Multiple, Survival, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:08:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27552055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sicktodeathoflogic/pseuds/sicktodeathoflogic
Summary: In the moonlight, Bohn sees the tired, hunched silhouettes of the students make their way up a small incline just before a mass of trees. It’s quiet now; not even the cheerful student from earlier makes a sound above a whisper. It makes sense, Bohn thinks. What is there to say?The less injured of the group search for sleeping bags and blankets – the ones they originally packed for camping – and big sweaters to keep them warm in the ocean breeze. In small, huddled groups, the survivors of the engineering volunteer trip fall asleep on the hill where the beach meets the jungle. Bohn looks out to the ocean one more time. The sky is starting to brighten into deep oranges and pinks.He falls asleep with a thankful prayer that he gets to see another sunrise.
Relationships: Boss/Mek (My Engineer), Duen Krisada Rattananumchok/Bon Sirikarnkul, Frong Korawit Kankun/Thara, Implied Tang/Ting Ting, King/Ram (My Engineer)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	Castaway

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY so this fic is my first ever for the fandom and the longest fic I have ever written, so please bear with me throughout this process!
> 
> This fic takes place as if Bohn and Duen never met in the park that day, so their friend groups are familiar with each other, but there's enough for everyone to still get to know each other on their journey. The survival "content" of this fic, such that it is, is borrowed heavily from the show Flight 29 DWN (i.e. Lost for kids) because I loved that show as a kid and it seemed like a good way of pacing survival-esc. events. Obviously, there will be divergence from this.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

Duen has never been a fan of flying. He’s only been on planes once or twice, when his father had more time off to take his family on vacations, and each time was anxiety-riddled. Duen hates the feeling of his insides being pulled back during take-off, and the harsh, shuddering stop when the plane lands. Today is no exception. In fact, his anxiety is somehow worse as he eyes the plane that he and around twenty other students board with suspicion. It seems too old and rickety; all modern comforts have been stripped so that the cabin looks like the skeleton of what a charter plane should be. There’s hardly any room between his seat and the one in front of him, and as such he has to wriggle himself into a more comfortable position.

Ram, calm and collected as ever, slides into the seat next to Duen and puts a hand on his arm. “It’ll be okay,” he says. “It’s only two hours before we get to the island.”

“I don’t know why we couldn’t take a bigger, _safer_ plane there,” Duen mumbles. “I thought you said you guys raised a lot of money for this trip.”

“It’s only two hours,” Ram repeats, putting in his headphones.

Ting Ting turns around, having managed to find seats with Tang in front of them. “I heard that we’ll be spending some time in the jungle!” she says excitedly to Duen. “Three full days of camping – I can’t wait!”

“I don’t know why you’re so enthusiastic,” Tang mutters. “You hate camping.”

“Yeah, but it’ll be with you guys,” Ting Ting explains cheerfully. She turns towards the front of the plane with a sly smile. “And with all of these cute engineering boys. Thanks again for inviting us, Ram!”

Tang groans and says to Ting Ting, “Calm down, they don’t even know who we are,” at the same time Phu protests from across the aisle, “Hey! I helped, too, you know!”

Seeing how excited his friends are to take this trip, Duen relaxes a little into his seat. He tells himself that everything will be fine. Soon, they’ll be on the ground again, safe and sound, ready for this mini-vacation disguised as a volunteering trip. This is something that he hasn’t done, well, ever, and he should try and savor it. He lifts his window shade, and watches the last remnants of dusk as the plane ascends over a sparkling ocean. The exhaustion of the day’s traveling consumes him and, around ten minutes after take-off, Duen falls asleep on Ram’s shoulder.

Around forty minutes into the flight, Duen starts awake by the feeling of leaving his seat slightly. He immediately notices that the cabin is a lot louder than when he fell asleep. The plane rattles and creaks under the pressure of newfound shakiness, and Duen jerkily flops from side to side as the plane attempts to keep a stable position.

Duen sees Thara struggle to stay upright as he passes him in the aisle. “Thara,” he says, “what’s going on?”

Thara looks nervously toward the cockpit, but when he turns back he has a placid smile on his face, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Duen recognizes the expression as the one he wears at the hospital. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. There’s just a little storm outside. Put your seatbelt on,” he adds seriously before returning to his seat.

Duen straps himself in tightly and turns to see what Thara called a ‘little storm.’ Thick clouds surround them, making it impossible for Duen to see anything beyond the wing of the plane. Rain pummels them in harsh swaths, and in one terrifying moment, lightning strikes so close that it briefly illuminates everything in the gray void surrounding them.

The lights in the cabin suddenly flicker to life.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” comes the pilot’s calm voice over the announcing system, “we are experiencing some turbulence due to an unexpected weather phenomenon. I ask that you return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts.” The old seatbelt sign above the cockpit lights up.

Duen wants to grouse from the back that _no shit_ they’re experiencing turbulence, but his fear prevents him from speaking. He firmly grips the arms of his chair, and when he turns he sees that Ram has done the same. In the row in front of him, he sees Ting Ting and Tang holding hands tightly, knuckles white, as Ting Ting whimpers something that Duen can’t hear over the din of the plane shaking. 

Out the window to his right, Duen sees a small glow in the dark storm outside. It’s the engine under the right wing, which is engulfed in flames and spurting smoke that’s somehow darker than the night.

“Fire,” Duen says, raising a finger to point out the window. “The engine’s on fire,” he repeats, louder. He searches for his cousin, foolishly trying to make him aware of this fact, as if he can do something about it. “Thara?”

Voices in the cabin pick up, mostly panicked cries from the students while other students try to calm them down. Cries turn to screams as Duen feels it: the rise and fall of his stomach, like breaching the peak of a roller coaster.

They’re losing altitude.

The plane shakes more violently as they descend. Out of the corner of his eye, Duen sees the flaps of the wings rise, and that seems to make things worse. Overhead compartments jostle open and carry-on bags and jackets tumble through the cabin. Duen looks to Ram, who put an arm across his chest to keep him in his chair.

The sound signaling the PA system dings again, almost unheard over the chaos in the plane. “Prepare for an emergency landing!” the pilot shouts, his voice harsh, as if yelled through gritted teeth. 

Duen closes his eyes.

“I don’t want to die!” Ting Ting wails through a sob.

Duen feels the plane struggle to find lift, to pull up to a horizontal position.

He grabs Ram’s hand that’s on his chest and braces himself for impact.

Distantly, the pilot screams, “What the – ” before Duen hears the plane smack against the sea, before he feels the plane convulse as it jolts to a violent stop. His body thrashes against his seatbelt, and he almost strikes the seat in front of him. Then as quickly as he’s launched forward he’s thrusted back, his head hitting his seat. The plane has stopped moving. There’s a quiet tone of the plane powering down and settling before its systems seem to die entirely. Duen hears a gentle hiss as water settles around them.

Duen tentatively opens his eyes. Ram rubs the back of his neck, and Duen sees a little blood on the side of his head. He hears Ting Ting’s weeping, Tang’s comforting words, and various inquiring voices. By the time Duen wonders if he should be reaching for a flotation device or something, the pilot, haggard and panting, emerges from the cockpit. Everyone falls quiet at his entrance.

“We’re…” he says quietly, as if surprised, “we’re on land.”

= Day 1 =

Bohn groans. He’s definitely pulled something in his neck, and every part of him that touched his seatbelt burns. Is it over? Have they landed?

“Hey,” King says from the seat next to him, “are you okay?” King has someone else’s jacket draped over him, and a few carry-on bags are piled by his legs in the aisle. Bohn feels a pang of guilt; he shouldn’t have chosen seats near the front.

“Yeah,” Bohn says. “Are you?”

King nods. He turns to ask after Boss and Mek in the seats behind them, when the cockpit door opens abruptly.

“We’re…” the pilot says, “we’re on land.” His shell-shocked demeanor holds for a moment before morphing into one of intense panic. He frantically opens the cabin door and throws himself outside. Bohn hears the small splash of something landing in shallow water, followed by retching sounds.

“Everyone,” a voice pipes up, and Bohn recognizes the figure standing in the aisle as the senior medical student (who for some reason is on this trip), “I think we should leave the plane as soon as possible. If you’re able, take as much luggage off the plane as you can. Help the people next to you. Anyone who’s injured, let me look you over first.”

That seems to set everyone in motion. “Who made him in charge?” Bohn grumbles, releasing himself from his seatbelt.

“It’s a good idea,” King says, grabbing the nearest suitcase. “I think I heard someone say that the engine was on fire. That could cause an explosion, or the tide could carry the plane out to sea. Either way, we should get our stuff. Come on.”

“Fine,” Bohn mutters. He never said it was a bad idea. He gathers Mek, Boss, and Tee (none of whom look drastically injured by the crash, thankfully) to form an assembly line from the water to the beach. When Bohn jumps out of the cabin door, his shoes land in cold water. He hisses. It’s still dark out, though the storm that caused their crash has dissipated; moonlight reflects brightly off the water. The pilot is several meters away, already on the beach. Even from this distance, Bohn hears him struggling to take deep breaths.

“W-Where are we?” Boss asks as he joins Bohn in the water. He looks wide-eyed at the land in front of them, which from their position is nothing more than a foreboding set of shadows. Boss’ voice is smaller than usual, Bohn notes.

“I don’t know,” Bohn replies honestly. “But let’s just get all of our stuff on land first.”

Boss nods shakily. Mek appears next, and takes Boss’ hand to lead him a little closer to the beach, and when Tee arrives he stands on the shore. King remains in the cabin, and thus the five of them become the human chain for supplies. King tosses Bohn cases in between students helping each other get off the plane. One student – a first-year, Bohn assumes, and not from his faculty – stands below the cabin door to help the other students exit. “That’s it,” he says, somehow managing to sound encouraging in the darkness. “There you go. Watch your step!”

When the last of the supplies are off the plane – including the food supplies stored near the cockpit and the two emergency first aid kits – Bohn helps King down and they slosh their way to the shore. In the moonlight, Bohn sees the tired, hunched silhouettes of the students make their way up a small incline just before a mass of trees. It’s quiet now; not even the cheerful student from earlier makes a sound above a whisper. It makes sense, Bohn thinks. What is there to say? 

The less injured of the group search for sleeping bags and blankets – the ones they originally packed for camping – and big sweaters to keep them warm in the ocean breeze. In small, huddled groups, the survivors of the engineering volunteer trip fall asleep on the hill where the beach meets the jungle. Bohn looks out to the ocean one more time. The sky is starting to brighten into deep oranges and pinks.

He falls asleep with a thankful prayer that he gets to see another sunrise.

* * *

“Duen,” Ram says, jostling him awake. “Get up.”

“Mmm?” Duen moves to stretch, but the action leaves him sore, snapping him back to his senses almost immediately. He’s suddenly aware of the coarse sand that’s stuck to half of his face, his hair – on much of his body, in fact – and then, seeing a small group of students gathering by the wreckage of the plane on the beach, Duen remembers why he’s there. There was a brief moment in his unconscious state when he believed the crash was a nightmare, that when he opened his eyes he would be landing in some tropical paradise.

His unconscious state has a sick sense of humor.

Ram goes to wake everyone else in their group, and in the daylight Duen can get a better look at them. Ram sports a bandage where the luggage hit his head, but Thara said last night it wasn’t serious. Ting Ting had nestled herself between Duen and Tang in the night. Duen thinks the two of them look pale but unharmed, and Phu has a bandage on his forearm. They’re safe, Duen thinks, before quickly amending the thought: they’re _alive_.

The five of them make their way down to the beach where everyone decided to unofficially convene. Everyone holds up their phones in various positions, presumably to get a signal, but Ram already told Duen not to bother; there isn’t any sort of service, at least on the beach. By the position of the sun, Duen guesses that it’s probably late morning or midday. No one speaks while milling around, which Duen finds understandable. Everyone looks awful. Those who slept look like they were awoken too early, and many appear as if they hadn’t slept at all.

The pilot, who Duen had not seen since he suddenly threw himself out of the cabin the night before, stands with Thara with his back to the plane, clipboard in hand. “Good morning everyone,” he says in a relaxed and amiable tone, and Duen muses that something must have happened to him in the night to reclaim his wits. “I hope everyone is doing well, given the circumstances. Before we start distributing some of the emergency food supplies,” he gestures to a box filled with foil packets that Duen assumes were the in-flight refreshments, “we have some business to take care of. I know this might seem tedious, but I need to do a roll call to make sure we didn’t – " He coughs rather than end his sentence, but he doesn’t have to. _To make sure we didn’t lose someone,_ is what he meant.

“Bohn Sirikarkul,” the pilot reads, and one of the second-years that Duen vaguely remembers from the plane ride – and the one Ram mentioned was a total ass – grunts in response. “Duen Krisada?”

“Present!” Duen chirps. The list goes on naming his friends, the second-year engineering students (the ones Ting Ting couldn’t stop talking about), the third-year engineering students (the group of cool guys, and a trio of girls that Phu couldn’t stop talking about), Thara, and a smiley business student that Duen knows he’s met but has forgotten the name of. No one is missing, thankfully, and like his friends no one seems seriously injured.

“Right,” the pilot concludes, putting down his clipboard. “We should ration the food, but I don’t expect us to be here long. I think we should recuperate and just enjoy the weather.”

It’s the first statement that introduces a timeline – they’re not going to be there long – and Duen feels the blanket of heaviness surrounding them lift. Optimism spreads quickly, and the students start chatting cheerfully, only complaining slightly when packets with cold, soggy noodles and bland Western food are rationed as a sort-of brunch.

The three student groups, separated by year, decide to amuse themselves in various ways as they wait for their rescue. They form disparate groups on the beach, and after digging around in their damp luggage, almost everyone is sporting some kind of swimwear. For the next few hours, Duen revels in the sounds of splashing and laughing, and there are brief moments when, like his dream, Duen forgets why they’re there.

* * *

It’s well into the late afternoon when Bohn gets sick of playing in the water. He is the only one of this opinion amongst his friends, who seem to be content with building sandcastles and burying Boss into the beach (Bohn will admit that the latter was hilarious). With nothing better to do, Bohn begins exploring the less dense parts of the forest beyond the beach. There’s a clearing not too far in, perfectly suitable for a campsite – though, Bohn reminds himself, there isn’t any point in building a campsite. There are people looking for them. 

Bohn takes in the surrounding vegetation. There’s various ferns and flowers that make up the undergrowth. It’s not the first time that Bohn thinks that maybe their crash hadn’t been a total loss; the island is beautiful, as far as he can tell, teeming with wildlife. In different circumstances he might explore further for fun, but again, there’s no point when they’re going to be rescued soon.

Bohn wanders further into the shrubbery without thinking too much about where he’s going. Suddenly, there’s a yelp over his shoulder, and when Bohn turns, he thinks he sees a figure behind a tree – and that’s when a branch comes flying to hit Bohn square in the face. “Ah!” Bohn cries out, clutching his nose. “What the hell?”

“What’re you doing?” the student shouts. When Bohn squints open one of his eyes, he recognizes him. It’s the first-year from the night before, the one who reassured everyone leaving the plane. Looking at him more closely in broad daylight, Bohn notices how lanky and awkward the first-year is, perfectly matching his nervous personality on display now. The first-year clutches his shirt over his chest, as if scandalized that Bohn had seen something (he hadn’t), and again brandishes his branch towards Bohn.

“Taking a walk!” replies Bohn with equal volume. Honestly, the nerve of this guy.

“You shouldn’t walk in on other people changing!” the first-year scolds.

“Walk in?” Bohn repeats with angry incredulity. “I was just passing by! And for the record, I didn’t see anything.”

“That’s just what a pervert would say.”

“You – ” Bohn tastes something like metal in his throat and when he moves his hand, he sees blood. “Fuck.”

The first-year manages to get his shirt back on while Bohn is focused on his injured nose. “You’re bleeding.”

“Yeah, thanks, I figured that out,” Bohn snarks.

In a complete one-eighty from his previous behavior, the first-year suddenly looks troubled by Bohn’s being in pain. Bohn can’t figure out if he feels guilt or genuine concern, but either way he doesn’t resist when the first-year walks him over to a nearby log and sits him there. He pulls out a handkerchief from his pocket (this guy _would_ carry one around, Bohn thinks) and gently presses it to Bohn’s nose. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “I didn’t mean to hit that hard.”

Bohn can’t help but be flippant. “Aren’t you a medical student? Don’t they have rules about not hurting people?”

The first-year presses the handkerchief further into Bohn’s nose, and Bohn hisses. “I’m not a doctor yet,” the first-year states. “And even if I were, I’m sure the rules are pretty fuzzy when it comes to self-defense.”

Even though he’s in great pain, Bohn finds himself smiling a little. This first-year may look stupid, but meets Bohn’s teasing with equal measure. Bohn finds it refreshing, really. Anyone other than his friends typically treats Bohn with adoration or fear, and Bohn considers that incredibly dull. This first-year is interesting.

“You’re Bohn,” the first year says after a minute or so of silence.

Bohn looks at him quizzically. “How’d you know?”

“My friend knows you.” 

Bohn thinks back to their meeting this morning. He must be talking about the girl from the medicine faculty. Bohn grins and leans forward on the log, resting his chin in his hand. “Does your friend want my autograph?”

“I doubt it. He’s too scared of you.”

Ah. Bohn realizes he probably meant one of the two guys who were actually engineering students, and probably the one Bohn forced to lap campus in his boxers. He doesn’t press the subject further. “You’re not scared of me?”

The first-year rolls his eyes at him. “Should I be?”

“Maybe.” Bohn leans forward on his hand until his face is centimeters from the first-year’s, and looks down at his lips long enough for him to notice.

“Hey!” The first-year pushes Bohn’s forehead back and scrambles backwards. His face is beet red, and it’s pretty funny how easily flustered he is. “What are you doing?”

“You owe me,” Bohn says casually, leaning back. He usually doesn’t tease people like this – well, he does, but not so quickly after meeting them. “You’re the one who hit me.”

“I don’t – ” the first-year begins, before conceding with a sigh. “Fine! I’ll get my cousin to look at your nose, and then my debt will be repaid, alright?”

“Cousin?”

“Thara?” the first-year cries, racing toward the beach and removing himself from Bohn’s company as soon as possible. “Thara? Can you give me a hand, please?”

In the distance, Bohn hears the voice of the senior medical student. “What is it, Duen?”

Bohn grins. Duen. Bohn thinks that, as long as they’re going to be stuck here, he might as well entertain himself. 

Over dinner, there’s a big to-do over warming up their rationed packets, so as to not have them taste like “wet paper towels,” according to one of the third-years. Some argue that they brought a lot of camping equipment – pots, one frying pan, and the like – to survive for a few days on this trip, and they might as well use it. The issue then becomes making a fire, and even with everyone trying their best with rocks and sticks like a bunch of peasants in an ancient civilization, Bohn declares (and the third-years concede) that trying to make a fire after sundown is nigh on impossible. The group eat their rationed flavor packets in disappointed silence.

Thus, their first full day as castaways ends much like the night before: without a fire, in sporadic groups, on the hill where the beach meets the jungle. With the darkness comes shadows of doubt: what did the pilot mean by a ‘long’ time? A day? A week? Does anyone even know where they are?

As the group drifts off once more, Bohn feels those shadows begin to grow.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are, as always, loved and appreciated!


End file.
